Chapter 884 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 884: Not Every Player Is a Pro In the northern outskirts of Eternal Night Port, battered by relentless sandstorms, lies a narrow alley known as Blackwater Alley. This place is the slum of Eternal Night Port, inhabited mostly by marginalized groups other than the Wilanters. Among them are natives from the Great Desert, exiles from the Legion's homeland, indigenous people from the New Continent, and even some Borroans. The diverse racial composition and sharp conflicts have turned this place into a chaotic mix. Local gangs don't openly engage in shootouts under the Wilanters’ noses, but vendettas and brawls frequently occur, much like in West Sail Port after it was taken over by the Southern Legion. The Wilanters couldn’t care less about the survival of these fringe elements; they are merely cheap and expendable labor. Though they perpetually teeter between poverty and sustenance, they never seem to die out. They’re like weeds—always sprouting new shoots for various reasons when spring winds blow through. It's no wonder the Southern Legion is displeased with the bureaucrats of Victory City. The Victory City style of exploitation is too inefficient, even weak. If those buffoons in Victory City could, like them, construct a "mutual harm" society at the bottom tier, where flies and rats fight for a mouthful of dung and spit insults over who is more foul-smelling, the initial riots in West Sail Port never would’ve happened. Take Eternal Night Port, for example. No laborer would ever die on a Wilanter dock. Before they could collapse from exhaustion, they would be quietly buried, amidst the mocking laughter of the crowd, in a place invisible to everyone. Like Blackwater Alley. They aren’t Wilanters after all, so they couldn’t possibly be buried alongside Wilanter failures. While walking through this "garbage dump", a few players whispered, exchanging phrases that might earn them a beating if overheard by the locals. "Medical Miracle": "…The Wilanters aren’t extreme enough, actually letting these sugarcane dregs rot on their doorstep instead of burying them in the Great Desert." "Angry Fatty Liver": "No way, banishing people to the Great Desert would make them raiders." "Sour Cabbage Fish": "Might as well become a Goblin Mother." "Medical Miracle": "Tsk, pay attention—I'm talking about burying. You think this is an invitation to dine out, politely sending them to the door?" "Angry Fatty Liver": "Are you crazy?! Who would work for you then?" "Sour Cabbage Fish": "+1, you're being too extreme." Listening to the babble coming from the three nitwits behind him, Talan Raider was left speechless. Why does it feel like he's constantly recruiting a bunch of eccentric characters? Thinking back, it seemed the same before; his desert legion never attracted normal people. No wonder he couldn't reach T0! Surely, it must be his team members' fault! "Shut up, you guys! Trying to make your foreign language stick out more here?" Hearing their leader speak, the three players finally quieted down. It wasn’t because they respected him. They were mostly worried this dimwit might screw up the mission and pin the blame on them. Talan breathed a sigh of relief and refocused on the streets flanking the alley. To avoid making his team seem like they were on a picnic, he specifically only brought along three newly acquainted confidants. As for the other thirty new recruits, he had them stay at an inn. They'd be useful once they entered the Great Desert. For now, having too many people would only be a hindrance and might attract Wilanter attention. Finding clues wasn’t easy. The houses in Blackwater Street were haphazardly built; some didn’t even have a visible door, let alone a door number. The address on the note was abstractly written, barely understandable by anyone you might ask for directions. But that wasn’t a problem for him. Talan's eyes scanned along the street until they lit up with a gleam. "Horseshoe Tavern… three storefronts to the right, then take a right into the alley. Found it! Follow me!" Seeing his excited demeanor, Medical Miracle couldn't help but remind him. "Boss… we've already passed by that horseshoe-shaped sign three times." Next to him, Sour Cabbage Fish nodded in agreement, looking certain. "+1, I remember it too." Talan's face reddened, and he glared at them. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Medical Miracle put on an innocent face. "I asked you what we were looking for, but you just told me to follow along, so I figured you knew where to go… You could’ve mentioned being lost." Talan's face flushed, unable to retort. Sour Cabbage Fish cast a doubtful glance at this unreliable captain, questioning hesitantly, "… Boss, are you sure you can do this?" Talan exploded in embarrassment. "… Shut up!" The three players exchanged glances, their suspicion only growing stronger. Perhaps… This mission might not be that important after all. Otherwise, it is hard to explain why the task fell to this incompetent… Unbeknownst to them, just as they turned into the alleyway, a group of Wilanter soldiers appeared at the spot they had just vacated. Although no declaration of war had been issued between the Southern Legion and the Union, their conflict in the Borroan province had already intensified. The unexpected appearance of Union members in Southern Legion territory surely wouldn't escape detection. Not even a Victory City visa would suffice! The harbor's garrison had been eyeing these blue rats since they disembarked, capturing a group right at the hotel entrance. Intending to interrogate these suspected spies separately, the guards soon discovered discrepancies between their numbers and those who had disembarked. Realizing there were escapees, the garrison officer promptly dispatched troops to pursue. Thus, led by a decurion, these soldiers pursued them all the way to Blackwater Street in the north. As they closed in, they found themselves at a loss when their quarry vanished after several turns. “Damn it, we lost them!” The decurion, wearing a grim face, let out a curse as he surveyed the fetid street. Surrounding him, the Wilanter guards appeared tense, scanning the dark alleys and tightly shut doors and windows. Blackwater Alley, while technically part of Eternal Night Port, was avoided by Wilanters. One soldier, following the decurion, nervously swallowed and asked, "Boss… what do we do now?" Narrowing his eyes, the decurion surveyed the streets. These blue rats clearly had issues. Why else would they flee? With this in mind, he didn’t hesitate any longer, issuing an order. “They can’t have gone far. They must still be nearby on Blackwater Street… Contact the local gangs and post a bounty!” The soldier straightened up, swiftly complying, “Yes, sir!” ... Getting lost was merely a brief interlude and didn’t hinder the Desert Legion's mission. Following the small paper note provided by the [Key NPC], Talan soon "quickly" found the next key NPC in the mission chain—a mercenary named Nock. Everything went smoothly, like the Keg Society’s heirloom toilet bowl. Seeing the man with a stubble-ridden chin lounging by the small house's entrance, [Talan Raider] elaborately explained his mission and who he was seeking, embracing utter sincerity. After listening to his narrative, the NPC "Nock" standing at the doorway stroked his stubbly chin, thoughtfully saying, “Martin… the name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe come back in a few days?” Ecstatic inside, Talan maintained a poker face, discreetly producing two twenty-denomination dinars. “Perhaps these might help jog your memory.” Gazing at the gold coins in his hand, the stubbled man’s face lit up with surprise, soon breaking into a delighted grin as he accepted them. “Martin! Of course, I know the guy! I was just drinking with him yesterday, right around the corner at the… um, what’s that tavern called?” “Horseshoe Tavern, right?” Admiring the jaw-dropping expression, Talan smiled slightly, tossing the two heavy gold coins into his hand, and patted his greasy shoulder. “…This is just a down payment. If you bring him to me, the remaining balance will be a hundred times this amount.” Hearing their leader's extravagant promise, the three followers behind him all gasped in shock. 4000 dinars! Even at the best exchange rates, that's 800 silver coins! While this might be a trivial amount for the big shots, for newcomers like them, it's quite substantial. It was obvious that their leader was truly investing heavily in this mission! The man named Nock wore a greedy expression, swiftly pocketing the gold coins. “No problem, but… how should I contact you once I've found him?” Talan smiled faintly, responding calmly. “For the next few days, I'll be staying at the Oak Barrel Inn in the harbor district. The inn’s sign is a conspicuously large beer barrel. Just tell the servant my name, Talan, and he’ll bring you to me.” His crew had booked the entire inn; it was filled entirely with his people. Though many in his legion were newbies, Talan himself was no rookie; he just had low visibility on the server. Having participated in numerous expansions and profited from exploiting every opportunity, an investment of just 4000 dinars was no burden to him. As long as the task was completed, it was all worth it. After finishing the instructions, Talan, accompanied by his three lackeys, swaggered away. Watching their leader's confident departure, Sour Cabbage Fish anxiously asked. “Boss, is this really it?” Talan chuckled lightly, his face brimming with confidence. "It's too early to say 'done,' but we're almost there." With the guy named Martin apparently in the harbor, everything would be much easier. Tasks like these—finding people—were often something local gangs were better at than the police. All that was left was to patiently wait for everything to fall into place. Angry Fatty Liver, who had been silent, furrowed his brows and murmured, “Something feels too convenient… Was Martin really just conveniently in Eternal Night Port?” “Indeed…” Medical Miracle stroked his chin, “If the mission were that straightforward, anyone could do it.” Seeing these rookies doubt him, Talan rolled his eyes. “This is what you call monetary prowess—you wouldn’t understand.” "Angry Fatty Liver: “…” "Sour Cabbage Fish: “Boss, you rock!” As their silhouettes disappeared around the alley corner, Nock turned and returned inside, gently shutting the rusty iron door. The moment it closed, the bright smile vanished from his face, replaced by a sinister glint in his tiny eyes. A burly man with a shaved head, carrying a rusty saw, emerged from the adjoining room. Seeing “Nock” return, he asked, “Boss, who were those people outside?” A centipede-like scar stretched across the man's throat, giving him a menacing appearance. Locals would likely be scared out of their wits by this scar. His name was York, nicknamed "The Doctor," though his daily activities had nothing to do with healing. He led a Hyena Gang crew collecting debts along Blackwater Street. The man whom York respectfully addressed as 'Boss' wasn’t actually called “Nock”; he was Mors, head of the Hyena Gang. In Blackwater Street, gang members referred to him as “Nubs.” The nickname stemmed from the fact that gamblers throughout Blackwater had left part of their fingers with him. “I don't know—they're outsiders and seem to have come from far away… Their dinars carried a whiff of ocean brine.” Pressing his nose against the coins and taking a deep sniff, Mors’ eyes narrowed, a playful smile curling his lips. “They call me Nock but don’t recognize my face… I suspect they’re not familiar with the real owner of this house.” A harsh light flickered in York's scarred eyes as he sneered, “Perhaps they can pay that dead dog’s debt for him.” “Paying off his debt?” Mors chuckled softly and said leisurely, "York, think bigger. Is simply paying off the debt all you aspire to?" 4000 dinars? If he didn’t extort forty thousand from them, it would be an affront to his reputation as “Nubs”! Mors' eyes gleamed with greed as he paused briefly, smiling as he continued. “My instincts tell me we can squeeze much more from these suckers… much, much more.” After all, the wealthiest in this port are those seafaring merchants. Because in their eyes, the most lucrative docks only serve those merchants. The key figure is a guy named Martin, and they also mentioned some organization called the Enlightenment Society. Mors didn’t care what that organization was; he only cared about the money. As he spoke, he passed by York, entering the adjacent room. Inside, a gaunt man was slumped in the corner. His face was sallow, eyes sunken, cheekbones protruding—a dying, feral dog. This poor soul was the real Nock. Once a notorious figure in the streets, Nock had sailed under a wealthy Victory City magnate, his tales from countless settlements enough to fill a thick tome. Yet, fate hadn’t been kind. Changing careers to a mercenary didn’t rid him of his gambling habit picked up at sea, nor his reliance on the smuggled “Serpent Grass” from Snake State to Eternal Night Port. He accrued debts approaching twenty thousand dinars. Such an amount was astronomical for ordinary people. The Hyena Gang had bought off this bad debt for a thousand dinars, intending far more than just retrieving forty dinars. They never entertained losing offers. Squatting beside Nock, Mors took a dagger from a nearby underling, tapping Nock’s trembling face with its blunt edge. “Do you know someone named Martin?” Nock shook his head vigorously, shivering with terror as though facing demons. “No, n-no… don’t—Ahhh!!!” A heart-wrenching scream echoed in the room as a dagger embedded deeply into his thigh. The blade sank entirely into the flesh. As the anguished cries faded into gasping sobs, Mors smiled at the wretched creature, gently covering his mouth. “Shhh… there’s no need to scream like that; I avoided your artery.” At this point, he suddenly shifted his tone. “But next time, I might not be so cautious… think carefully before answering me.” As he spoke, his calloused hand gripped the dagger handle, leaning in slightly. “Enlightenment Society, Martin, do these words trigger any memories?” Nock’s mouth opened, fearfully recoiling with the back of his head firmly against the wall, his eyes locked onto the dagger in his thigh, resembling a pig cornered in a slaughterhouse. His consciousness teetered at the edge of fainting, lacking even the strength to plead. In his past, a few ruffians like these would never have cornered him. But he was a shadow of his former self—gambling and addiction had hollowed him out. Mors’ patience grew thin, and he tightened his grip on the dagger, preparing to teach the broken dog a lesson. Just then, a henchman entered from outside, whispering lowly. “Boss, the Wilanters have issued a bounty—several Union spies have infiltrated Blackwater Street… 1000 dinars for a body, 2000 if alive.” Mors’ eyes narrowed into slits. “A bounty… who issued it?” The henchman quickly replied, “The harbor garrison!” York glanced at Mors, somewhat tempted. “…Is this job worth doing?” Wilanters’ tasks were generally trustworthy; they always paid as promised, never reneging. Additionally, pleasing a few garrison soldiers was advantageous. Mors didn’t reply immediately, silently calculating for a moment before frowning at the henchman. “Besides the bounty, is there any other information? Like… descriptions of the spies or their last sighting?” The henchman hesitated briefly, pondering before answering. “… The garrison didn’t specify, only told us to watch for unfamiliar faces.” At that moment, a thought seemed to strike him, causing him to exclaim. “Oh, right! The soldier mentioned that they lost sight of the targets near an intersection not far from here. He advised us to search around there.” York murmured under his breath from the side. “An intersection nearby... was it the main road, near the Horseshoe Tavern?” Horseshoe Tavern! When Mors heard the name, a look of surprise crossed his face, and then his eyes narrowed quickly. At that moment, the underling nodded rapidly, continuing. “Yes, yes, right by the tavern… oh, and they seem to have captured a group near an inn called the Oak Barrel in the harbor district.” “Could you spit it out all at once, instead of like squeezing toothpaste?” York smacked the back of the underling’s head, cursing. The underling looked terrified, shrinking his neck in fear. “That, that’s all…” “They were really here…” Mors muttered to himself softly, leaving York with a look of surprise. “Boss… you know them?” “Rather than knowing them, it’s more like they were just at our doorstep.” Mors had a peculiar expression on his face. What a coincidence! York was dumbfounded briefly, then he jubilantly tossed aside the saw in his hand. “I’ll go after them right now!” Watching York hastily ready to head out, Mors pulled the dagger from Nock’s thigh, signaling an underling to bandage him up. “You don’t even know what he looks like. I’ll come with you.” The Enlightenment Society, Martin... and now it even involves Union spies. Those 1000 dinars were well spent. Mors' shoulders shook slightly with laughter, a delighted grin spreading across his face. Where others see risks, he sees golden dinars. Things were getting more and more interesting... In the corner, the wan and helpless Nock stared in despair at the madmen before him. He had the unsettling feeling he'd been dragged into something catastrophic... ... At the same time that the gangs of Blackwater Alley were stirred into action, two men stood on the rooftop of an abandoned factory not far from Nock's house, peering towards Blackwater Alley through binoculars. Like the guy called [Talan Raider], these two were veteran players who received closed beta access early into the beta testing phase, having logged over two years of game time and reaching levels above 30. As top players among those just passing time, while they weren't like the T1 and T2 big shots stirring up the wasteland, they'd seen plenty of scam tactics. They were familiar with not just player tactics, but NPC ones too. So they didn’t buy into the nonsense that guy was spouting and left the group as soon as they touched land. As expected, not long after they left, those rookies ran into trouble. Even as the Southern Legion and Fang Chang conjured chaos in the Borroan province, those guys had the audacity to stroll around with visas issued by Victory City, even booking rooms at an inn. They completely disregarded the game’s "realism"! Yet, from a broader perspective, this might not be all bad. At least those novices disembarked with Companion-issued electronic passports, meaning their legal status was acknowledged by Victory City. The Southern Legion wouldn’t find any espionage evidence on them, and any fabricated evidence would only fool their own. For the Union, this incident could serve as a diplomatic bargaining chip. After all, it's just “clones” being detained, not risking the lives of citizens. Even if something goes wrong and they "heroically sacrifice" themselves, recovering in three days is all it takes. Furthermore, Talan was unaware that he wasn’t the only one entrusted with the mission. The two veteran players on the rooftop already confirmed that any player over level 30 could trigger the mission to investigate the Enlightenment Society. And on the whole ship, only three players exceeded level 30. “That fool really caused a ruckus. All of Blackwater Alley is stirred up.” [Desert Falcon] laughed, lowering the binoculars. His teammate beside him glanced over, asking, “Are we really just going to hang back and watch?” Desert Falcon shrugged, dismissing the question. “No need to intervene. Even if he gets caught, what’s the harm… Besides, causing some commotion isn’t a bad thing. Searching for the Enlightenment Society in the Great Desert is like finding a needle in a haystack. Better to scare the snake out of the bush and see if they’ll come to us.” “Once they do, we might trace some clues back to them.” Indeed, the mission briefing made it clear the Union’s Honor Guard wasn’t certain of the Enlightenment Society’s involvement in the Borroan conflict, only hearing rumors of a researcher with a shelter resident status appearing in Southern Legion territory. Rumor had it that guy developed a virus named "Death Agent" using technology from the Prosperity Era. Such tactics seemed fitting for the Enlightenment Society. Considering the majority of the Southern Legion’s colonies bordered the Great Desert, the Union reasonably speculated that the Southern Legion might have struck a deal with the Enlightenment Society. This mission offered high freedom. Any confirmed valuable intel could be exchanged for contribution points and silver coins, potentially triggering hidden missions as the investigation deepened. However, with such high freedom came the likelihood of significant difficulty. Much like the Mother Hive in Baiyue Province, a mission released last year that remained incomplete this year. Amused by Desert Falcon’s strategy, [Xiao Chuan Pure One] couldn’t help but give a thumbs up. “Sly... legit strategy of selling out teammates.” His tone bore no sarcasm. On the contrary, he genuinely thought it was sly. Yet Desert Falcon wasn’t happy with the phrasing, clicking his tongue and countering, “Selling out teammates? Call it scaring the snake, throwing stones to explore the path—learn something!” Strictly speaking, their band of solo players were the stones thrown by their Administrator. And they willingly took the bait. As for the hapless Talan, he was the stone Desert Falcon tossed into the water. If he got caught, it would be perfect. The Enlightenment Society might even come looking for him. Xiao Chuan was suitably awed. “Well, if you say so, then it must be.” To be continued.